


Scrabble

by Mercia



Series: Femslash February 2019 [28]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Canon parallels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Femslash February, Fluff, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Season 1 to Season 3, The Bus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 14:48:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17962595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mercia/pseuds/Mercia
Summary: The five times they almost get together and the one time they do.





	Scrabble

**Author's Note:**

> That's all folks!

  1. Skye’s never had a family, really. The orphanage, crappy foster homes, and a few, short-lived, nice ones certainly don’t count.



But she’s on the Bus, which is a stupid name for their home in the sky but that’s part of the charm, with Coulson, May, Ward, Fitz and Simmons. They’re playing scrabble, which is totally unfair since Fitz and Jemma have, like, triple their IQ, and the other three agents know like seven languages. Skye has the dictionary app on her phone, but she doesn’t dare use it with three spies in the room.  

“It is  _ so  _ a real word,” splutters Jemma, outraged — she’s currently winning, of course.

“Sure,” says Coulson. “If you say so.”

“It  _ is.” _

They’ve all got mugs of hot chocolate, even May, each personalized to their own tastes. Skye has whipped cream and marshmallows and cinnamon and basically all anything sweet that can be found in the kitchen. Her hands are closed around the warmth of it, a classic comfort. And everything is good.

Jemma falls back into the couch in frustration, suddenly resting her head on Skye’s shoulder, burying her face into the crook of her neck. Soft brown hair tickles her skin and Jemma complains lightly about “bloody Americans and Scots taking revenge on the English.” She smells faintly of peaches and some floral perfume scent and the hot chocolate on her breath.

Like an idiot, Skye immediately freezes up. 

The mug falls from her fingers, and hot milk immediately seeps through her clothes to her skin. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Jemma exclaims, instantly jumping up from her position, frantic, blue paper towel from nowhere already in her hand to clean up.

“No! It’s fine, Simmons.” Skye replies quickly, shaking her head adamantly. “Don’t worry about it.”

From the opposite couch, she sees May eying the two of them warily, scrutinizing them. Skye swallows and says nothing and hopes her blush isn’t as prominent as it feels.

If Skye didn’t know better, she’d think Jemma’s cheeks are glowing a little red as well, helping her clean the hot chocolate and cream and everything else off her shirt, and she’s so  _ close. _ Skye could almost kiss her. 

But she won’t, obviously. And Jemma probably isn’t blushing, it’s just the lighting, and the rest of the team are literally sitting around them,  _ Fitz _ is right beside them. 

And Skye’s never had a proper family before. Anything more would ruin that.

* * *

 

     2. It’s in the aftermath of her fall, after Ward jumped out of the quinjet and rescued her and the antidote  _ worked _ , that Skye is finally able to breathe. Her arms fall automatically around her, fitting, holding her close and tight.

Jemma is alright. 

Jemma is  _ alive. _

Jemma trembles in her embrace, slightly, quietly shaky. And neither of them let go.

Honestly, neither of them have known each other for that long a time, a few months, really, but Skye already knows she doesn’t know what she would do if she lost Jemma — if she lost any of this newfound family, really. But especially Jemma. 

_ How could you do this? _ She wants to say.  _ How could you jump and think that it wouldn’t destroy us? How could you be so callous with your own life, that you would jump to save us? _

_ Don’t you know that I already —  _

She doesn’t say it, though. Of course, she doesn’t. How can she? Not when she already knows the answer. That the same reason Skye can’t wait as someone goes out to catch her again is the same reason Jemma would do it again, and again, if presented with the same situation.

It’s almost funny how these things work. It’s part of the reason why Skye cares so much — because Jemma cares so much. And she’s so afraid to lose that.

Skye squeezes her a little, and presses a kiss into Jemma’s hair, breathing her in, and this moment and how she’s here and okay. 

_ Don’t you know that I already can’t lose you? Don’t you know what that means?  _ She wants to say, but she doesn’t.

“I’m glad you're okay,” she says instead.

* * *

     3. “Jems,” says Skye weakly, once she comes back out of that morphine haze. “C’mon, I need to tell you something.”

She’s lying in the med-pod on the Bus, finally conscious and no longer dying. She is much too weak to move the blankets to exam her stomach or the bullet wound, but she suspects Quinn really did a number on her, because, geez. She’s mostly numb but she still feels like  _ shit. _

The room is too bright and small and closed in. And the only things in it are the bed and all the machines and chemicals, monitoring and stabilizing her vitals. And the only source of noise in the room is the heart monitor, beeping steadily. 

They could have at least given her a laptop with Netflix, or some damn hospital jelly.

“Simmons,” she says again, wincing at the way her voice croaks.

Jemma is standing at the door of the room, busying herself with prepping another syringe to either inject Skye with something else or take another blood sample. She looks up.

_ Finally _ .

Because Skye really does have something to tell her. Something important and not the usual blood-taking-vampire jokes. She’s figured, between now and the last time Doctor Jemma was here, with her almost dying and all, there’s no time like the present.

“Skye,” tuts Jemma, frowning cutely. “You really shouldn’t waste your energy like that trying to speak. You aren’t in pain are you?”

“No, but — “

“Oh good. I know you’re stable now, and you aren’t about to die, but you really mustn’t push yourself,” she continues, light but scolding, before Skye feels the needle poke into her arm, and whatever drug it is that Skye can’t pronounce, flows into her blood. 

“I just wanted to tell you that I like you,” says Skye in one breath, pouting a little now. 

Jemma tosses her head back and laughs. “Oh, I like you too Skye. Very much.”   


“No, I mean I like-like you. Like —” and Skye has never been the most eloquent, but her tongue feels like it’s truly struggling to find the words right now. “Romantic stylez.”

Jemma hums, and shakes her head lightly, almost to herself, looking fond as she walks back to the door. 

“Now, that’s just the morphine talking,” she says, before the door slides shut.

Skye suppresses a groan.

* * *

     4. SHIELD is gone.

SHIELD is gone. SHIELD is gone.  _ SHIELD is gone. _

And Skye feels like she is an agent of Nothing. Her family is separated. Ward, her mentor, was a  _ traitor. _

They are silent on the way there. Tired, exhausted, from everything. Trip takes to pacing the grounds, May stays in her pilot’s seat, Coulson just lies down and closes his eyes, but he’s not really sleeping, she thinks.

Skye sits in her bunk. Months, almost a whole years worth, of memories here. Outside in the common area, there’s so much broken glass and splintered wood and burnt parts, but in her bunk, it's untouched. It could almost be like nothing has changed.

Except it’s too quiet outside. There’s no sound of Coulson’s cheesy music, or Fitzsimmons science-ing, or May and Ward sparring. 

When they arrive, finally, at the coordinates, wherever it is Nick Fury has sent them, they all stand at the door. Tired, but ready for anything. They have to be.

The first thing she sees, standing there, is Jemma.

Her feet move before her brain even catches up, body moving on instinct, her arms finding Jemma and holding on tight and adamant that she won’t let go. Ever. And Jemma relaxes into her and grips on just as strong, just as fiercely, and knows Jemma won’t let her go either.

Almost everything is broken, but they’re okay.

Oh, she could really kiss her.

But Jemma holds herself small in her arms, and even though she seems freshly washed, she looks about ready to collapse, and there is something so delicately held about her expression. As though she’s clinging onto Skye because she might be the only thing left.

“Where’s Fitz?” Skye asks, dread welling up in her stomach, glancing over Jemma’s shoulder to the empty space behind her.

And Jemma releases a breath, heavy and shuddering and too shallow. “Alive,” she says finally. “He’s… alive.”

Jemma pulls away, but not completely, and Skye holds her hand firmly, both shaking, and says nothing.

Right now, this is enough.

* * *

      5. She doesn’t quite know what to do when Simmons comes back from HYDRA. She’s different.

Though, they all are. 

And there’s no time to really do anything except hope that they make it out alive

Because suddenly, they’ve been thrust into this world where HYDRA is still at large, where it’s not aliens and a few obscure people on an Index with powers now. It’s one of them, it’s a whole community, it’s how Skye has been searching for her past, her origin for so long and in the space of a few weeks she’s met her father and mother, and lost them both too. It’s that an enemy became an ally, Raina and all her manipulations and her sacrifice, and family became the enemy. It’s that her father was mad, sick with it, but ultimately good, and that Skye’s name is really Daisy — though, she still can’t get used to it.

When Simmons comes back from HYDRA, there’s so much chaos it seems almost minute. And there’s no time to discuss anything. If it was up to Simmons, she’s sure, there would be nothing much to discuss at all.

Skye knocks on the glass before she enters the lab. It still feels a little odd, in this big open lab and this actually secret base of operations, instead of the Bus, but the air isn’t as...stilted as before. It’s less uncomfortable.

Fitzsimmons are beginning to sync back up to each other now, though, there are still some things unsaid, she can tell. 

“Skye,” says Simmons, looking up with a smile that’s getting easier and easier these past few days. It still does something soft and flutter, after all this time. “Your here. I have new gauntlets for you to try out.”

“That’s great, Simmons. Thanks,” she replies, tucking her hair back behind her ear. She swallows.

Behind them, she hears Fitz slip silently out of the room, and somehow she sees Jemma breathe, and the unresolved tension in the room fall away. It’s not perfect, and Skye misses the effortless comfort that came with the Bus, back before once more. They’ve all been through so much, though, multiple perils in every variation, they’ll be okay. She has to believe it. 

Jemma turns, busying herself with adjusting the gauntlets before helping to fasten them on. They fit flawlessly. Of course they do.

“Now,” says Jemma, releasing a shaky breath, fidgeting. “Do you— How would you like to test them out?”

They set it up simply, just as Jiaying showed her. There’s a glass of water on the table, and that’s all. No more no less. Jemma attaches some biomonitors to her, with her permission, and watches, fascinated, and without fear, every so often reaching up to adjust their positions. 

Jemma is standing close to her, watching every part of the process intently. Skye closes her eyes and she can feel Jemma, the scholar, observing her expression, watching for any sign of pain. She’s hyperaware of the way her hand opens, stretching towards the table, shivering with the careful release of control. Jemma stands there, muttering softly to her about the vibrations of every molecule of water, the bonds within them and between them, and how Skye is affecting them and it’s  _ incredible _ .

When Skye opens her eyes, exhales finally, she meets Jemma’s eyes. Neither of them are saying anything, but it feels right. It just feels right. That it’s them, that Jemma is helping her through it, this time, looking on in awe and wonder and pride. And it feels like they trust each other again.

Her eyes flicker to Jemma’s lips, kind and brave and which remind Skye of the family she hasn’t lost yet.

She’s not sure if she wants to say it now. Her throat catches the words before they pass her lips, held there for the longest while now, because she’s not sure if it’ll seal the moment or if it will shatter it. 

There’s the sound of Coulson calling everyone back to the common room, and Jemma pulls her gaze away and steps back. 

Skye takes a breath, looks back to the glass still there on the table, the water turned to ice, and melts it back down again. She turns and follows Jemma back out the door.

* * *

 

     +1. They’re sitting on the couches — Jemma bundled into a too-big hoodie with the sleeves stretched over her hands, knees pulled up to her chin, leaning gently into Daisy’s side, and Daisy has her arm tucked behind Jemma’s back and is resting her head on hers — in the common area, in the long unused shell of the Bus. 

It’s been a while.

Daisy has her old, trusty laptop, from before even her SHIELD ‘consultant’ days, back from when she was with the Rising Tide, playing music softly. A playlist of hits from 2012, which was an era ago, it seems.

They’ve been coming back here more often now, just the two of them, after she’d had another sleepless night and wandered down here and found Jemma having one as well. And Jemma had told her everything. About the planet, six months alone, always running because there were creatures — monsters — and someone else, a half feral man, stranded there for fourteen years, Will Daniel, who lived amongst the corpses of his friends. She talked about HYDRA and why she left, and how Fitz loved her and she loved him but she just couldn’t...not in the way he wanted her to love him. That they’re better now, and comfortable and still best friends, of course they are, but things can’t ever be the same. And that she was sorry, sorry because she’d been afraid when Skye — Daisy — had chained and acted fearful when she should have tried to learn.

And Daisy had listened and listened and then Jemma said she wanted to listen too, and they’d stayed up all night.

That was three months ago.

There’s a hot mug of English breakfast tea on the coffee table, the steam rises gently into the air, ghostly against the dim lighting, only the blue glow of Daisy’s laptop. They’re sharing it.

The room is cold, which is partly why they’re curled around each other, a blanket over the both of them, legs tangled. The heating no longer works, or at least that’s what they presume, neither of them have actually tried it, and the lights are switched off.

“Daisy,” says Jemma, the name finally sitting comfortably on her tongue. Daisy feels her hesitate, tense up against her on the couch, and rubs little soothing circles into her back unthinkingly. 

“Hmm?” she hums, closing her eyes.

Jemma sits up, just a little, and fiddles with little loose threads of the blanket. “Daisy I have something to tell you.”

Daisy pops one eye open and smiles at her, softly, serenely, because its moments like this which matter in the crazy, stupid world of theirs (and it is theirs, saving it multiple times has certain entitlements, she thinks.)

“What’s up, Jems?”

“Daisy, I like you,” and then Jemma swallows and frowns and shakes her head. “No,” and she lets out a laugh, sounding both nervous and relieved somehow. Like she’s letting something off her chest, finally. “No. I’m in  _ love  _ with you.”

**Author's Note:**

> WOOP THAT WAS MY FIRST FEMFEB COMPLETED AAAAAAAAH.
> 
> Hope you liked this! I will die with this ship, im skimmons trash 4lyfe <3 <3 <3 
> 
> I'd like to thank my friends for their prompts and support as well as other ppl who prompted and followed this. I'd also like to thank spotify for writing music and my stubborn cheap ass for not getting premium. I'd also like to say fuck you to my mother. 
> 
> peace out ppl. :P


End file.
